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Poetry

Our aim at MJS is to encourage children to get involved with writing poetry. We are very lucky to have links with WriteOutLoud, which is based in Marsden. There are regular events held in Marsden Library.

https://www.writeoutloud.net/public/blogentry.php?blogentryid=64292

 The Junior Leadership Team would like every child in school to read a poem out loud in assembly before they leave school. We would like to have poems displayed in our library and of course, shared on this page.

At the end of each term, an award will be given to the child who writes the most creative poem. This will be known as the Coldwell Award (after a local poet). We hope to share numerous poems on this page.

Please look out for any upcoming events held in Marsden.

 

Poem of the month:

 

Kevin, the Chameleon Astronaut

As he sat in his space ship

young Kevin knew that soon

he’d be the first chameleon

to walk upon the moon.

 

He clambered down the ladder

in his special reptile suit,

his high tech lizard helmet

and his little welly boots.

 

He wandered round the surface

picked up a rock or two

then Kevin came to realise

there wasn’t much to do.

 

See, chameleons eat insects.

They zap ‘em with their tongue.

This didn’t seem the kind of place

Chameleons belong.

 

There were no beetles anywhere

or even centipedes.

All he could see was dust and rock,

nothing that Kevins need. 

 

He thought he’d change his colour

to a lovely shade of green,

forgetting that inside the suit

his skin could not be seen.

 

His boggle eyes went searching

for somewhere he could play

but all there was for miles and miles

was grey, and grey, and grey.

 

It had all seemed so exciting

to be the first in space.

Who would have thought the moon would be

a very boring place.

Stay Put

I have a fear of fire.

I have a fear of height.

I have a fear of being trapped alone

On my life's very last night.

 

I have a fear of towers.

I fear the way they sway.

The way the wind's wicked whispers

whistle past with far too much to say.

 

I fear some in high places.

I fear they do not care.

I fear they lack compassion

I can smell it in the air.

 

I fear some have been greedy

I fear corners have been cut.

I fear eyes that should be open now

By weight of coin have been shut.

 

I fear I'd have known the policy;

I fear it 'cos true.

I fear my undoing would have been

to do what I'd been told to do.

 

I fear that I'd still be there 

Beneath the charcoal blackened soot.

Yes, I fear that I'd still be there now

because I would've stayed put. 

Previous Poems

Stay Put

I have a fear of fire.

I have a fear of height.

I have a fear of being trapped alone

On my life's very last night.

 

I have a fear of towers.

I fear the way they sway.

The way the wind's wicked whispers

whistle past with far too much to say.

 

I fear some in high places.

I fear they do not care.

I fear they lack compassion

I can smell it in the air.

 

I fear some have been greedy

I fear corners have been cut.

I fear eyes that should be open now

By weight of coin have been shut.

 

I fear I'd have known the policy;

I fear it 'cos true.

I fear my undoing would have been

to do what I'd been told to do.

 

I fear that I'd still be there 

Beneath the charcoal blackened soot.

Yes, I fear that I'd still be there now

because I would've stayed put. 

 

 

The Minister for Exams

When I was a child I sat an exam.

This test was so simple

There was no way i could fail.

Q1. Describe the taste of the Moon.

It tastes like Creation I wrote,

it has the flavour of starlight.

 

Q2. What colour is Love?

Love is the colour of the water a man

lost in the desert finds, I wrote.

 

Q3. Why do snowflakes melt?

I wrote, they melt because they fall on to the warm tongue of God.

There were other questions.

They were as simple.

I described the grief of Adam

when he was expelled from Eden.

I wrote down the exact weight of

an elephant's dream 

Yet today, many years later,

For my living I sweep the streets

or clean out the toilets of the fat

hotels.

Why? Because constantly I failed

my exams.

Why? Well, let me set a test.

 

Q1. How large is a child's

imagination?

 

Q2. How shallow is the soul of the

Minister for exams?

 

Brian Patten

 

Miss Gladstone’s eyes are more severe 

Than other teachers teaching here. 

They swivel round then settle firm 

on pupils who begin to squirm. 

 

Like searchlights on a prison tower 

Miss Gladstone’s eyes don’t look, they glower. 

Not searchlights, no, more laser beams 

that burn enough to make you scream. 

 

Heads down, the class daren’t catch her eye 

for fear that if they do they’ll fry. 

But what they do not realise: 

the REAL Miss Gladstone, behind those eyes 

 

She’d love to be the pupils’ friend 

but fearful of where it might end 

if she relaxed, herself to be. 

It might bring back the past, you see. 

 

She was kind and happy, long ago 

until fate dealt a cruel blow. 

Her lover left her all alone, 

so she’s no children of her own. 

 

Her fear’s that tears might moist her eye 

and if she then began to cry 

she’d never stop for days or weeks. 

Her future then would seem quite bleak. 

 

Her sobs might trickle then cascade 

with no-one to come to her aid, 

Turn stream to river, then sea of tears, 

and burst the dam she’s held for years 

 

So spare a thought for Miss Gladstone 

back in her flat there all alone. 

Next time she stares at you awhile. 

Don’t look away, just give a smile. 

Julian Jordon, 2006

We visited a rainbow

at school the other day.

Every colour said hello

except for gloomy grey.

 

We visited a rainbow,

and used its arch to slide,

then when it started raining,

we used the arch to hide.

 

We visited a rainbow,

but never saw its gold.

Our teacher said it’s locked away,

but we think it’s been sold.

 

We visited a rainbow,

and now we’re best of friends,

so brought it back to live with me

until the school year ends.

 George Stanton

In This Little School

In this little school
Life goes so sweetly,
Day on azure day
Is lost completely.
No one thinks too much,
Or worries greatly.
In a pleasant shade
We dream sedately.
There's no struggle here
Or conflict showing;
Only the sweet pain
Of young limbs growing.

by Lesbia Hartford.

 

Awards